


Everything of You

by mellyflori



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Overstimulation, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Unless this is your clever ploy to get Sunday mornings, too, you’d best stay south of the knee. I’m finishing this chapter, and then I’m going to sleep. Going to see if I can’t make it to early Mass."</p><p>Porthos digs his fingernails in enough to make Aramis hiss and his pulse throb in his cock. “Would I do that?” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [latbfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latbfan/gifts), [JWAB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JWAB/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Great Party on the One Day They Know You Can't Come](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604660) by [JWAB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JWAB/pseuds/JWAB). 



> The utterly incomparable JWAB let me into her A Great Party on the One Day They Know You Can't Come sandbox for a prompt brought to her by latbfan, and I could not be more honored and tickled. I had a great time playing with her boys and I even brought them back in one piece. Mostly. Normal wear and tear is to be expected. 
> 
> While the bulk of the story will probably make sense if you haven't read the original fic, you should read it anyway. Because it's gorgeous and it made me go all weepy.

“When we grow up, will we have jobs that give us proper weekends?"

Porthos looks up from his book and trails his gaze over the streaks of silver at Aramis’ temples, the flecks of it in his beard. He puts his hand over Aramis’ foot where it’s propped in his lap. “Probably too late to _grow up_ to be anything.” He turns the page with one hand, the other resting against Aramis’ skin, thumb tracing the bone of his ankle. “And you love your job."

The one thing Aramis had truly missed most about being a priest was his time with the kids at the counseling center, being able to make a difference to them and feel the love flow back to him. Never a man for a life of leisure, once he’d given up the collar, he’d looked for anything he could find that would let him give back like that again. Without a license, it had been hard to get a foot in the door anywhere, but eventually, he’d gotten a call from a youth center on the south side of the city and from his first step inside the building, Aramis had felt at home.

These days he fills in whenever he can and in his off hours he’s finishing his coursework requirements for the licensure program. Admittedly, it’s taking slightly longer than expected because Porthos hasn’t yet been able to resist the sight of Aramis with his glasses on, bent over a book with a highlighter in his hand. 'Do you have any idea how many times I saw you like this and couldn’t touch?' he would say. 'Fuck if I’m resisting _now_.'

Long days and irregular schedules for both of them mean that some Saturdays are uninterrupted stretches of self-indulgent sloth, and some are packed with research and papers and double shifts. It always ends like this, though. The two of them. Together.

Tonight, Aramis is finishing a chapter on ethical sampling in statistical analysis, trying to focus as he feels the hand on his foot start tracing up his leg. At first, it’s just gentle squeezing, the kind of absent-minded touching they’re both prone to after so many years apart; even eight months into their relationship they’re still hungry for each other’s skin. After a few minutes, though, Aramis feels the nails of Porthos’ fingers drag up the muscle of his calf. A gentle rake up, a heavier scratch back down. Over and over. It’s sending shudders up his leg, and he can feel his skin getting warmer.

“Are you trying to start something?”

The hand on his leg stills and Aramis looks up to see Porthos’ face. He’s never looked less guilty.

“Unless this is your clever ploy to get Sunday mornings, too, you’d best stay south of the knee. I’m finishing this chapter, and then I’m going to sleep. Going to see if I can’t make it to early Mass."

Porthos digs his fingernails in enough to make Aramis hiss and his pulse throb in his cock. “Would I do that?” he says.

He wouldn’t. They both know it. Aramis had asked for Sunday mornings and Porthos, his perfect Porthos, had understood that it was important, that his faith is part of what makes Aramis the man he loves so much, and he’d never interfere with that. And maybe that’s what does it tonight. Maybe it’s knowing that Porthos will never try to take this from him that makes Aramis want to give it to him just this once.

It would hardly be the first time he’d had to go to a later service, or not made it at all. Granted, the last time was because he’d had food poisoning, but that hardly matters.

“Good,” Aramis says, snapping his book shut and dropping his highlighter on the coffee table. He kicks the blanket off and stands, heading for the hallway. “It’s not like you could fuck me hard enough to keep me home anyway.” He throws it over his shoulder as he leaves the room, a grenade with the pin pulled.

“Oh _really_?” From the sound of his voice, Porthos is still on the couch. But not for long.

 

Porthos’ arm sneaking around his shoulders is heavy and warm, stopping him in his tracks, halfway to the bed. The touch of his lips behind Aramis’ ear is soft at first, then hard as his teeth nip the skin.

“I used to dream about this.” Aramis curls his fingers over Porthos’ forearm. He can still picture all those old fantasies of having Porthos hold him, kiss him, fuck him. Love him.

Porthos’ nose drags up the side of Aramis’ neck, and there’s another soft kiss behind his ear. “I always wanted more of you. More time. Wanted to touch you more and not hold back what I was thinking. That’s what I thought about. Just more. Holding you until as long as I wanted. Fucking until one of us couldn’t anymore."

Aramis ducks his head and kisses Porthos’ arm. He turns in Porthos’ hold and looks him straight in the eye. “Which one of us?"

Porthos flashes a dimple at him. “Depended on the day.” He starts walking, backing Aramis up until he can feel the bathroom door behind him.

“Kiss me,” Porthos says and how can Aramis resist that? It’s luxuriously slow. Aramis can feel Porthos’ hands clutching his shirt, pulling it taut over the small of Aramis’ back as Porthos opens Aramis’ mouth with his own. The sounds of Porthos breathing and his own quiet whines fill Aramis’ ears. His hands are holding Porthos’ face, feeling his jaw move as the kiss deepens and Porthos tongue strokes the roof of his mouth.

They’ve kissed countless times, heavy and fast or quick as they pass in the kitchen, but every time they do, Aramis remembers again how much he loves this man. They kiss, like Porthos had wanted, until they are finished. Porthos rests his forehead against Aramis’ and just breathes him in.

Aramis looks at him, tugging one curl and letting it spring back. “I wish—.” He shakes his head. “Kiss me again,” he says and tugs Porthos closer. He’ll never find the right words to describe the way Porthos focuses on him, the near-reverence with which Porthos tugs Aramis’ lower lip between his teeth and sucks at it.

“What were you going to say, hm?” Porthos asks. “What do you wish?” He tucks his hands in the back pockets of Aramis’ jeans and leans back a bit so he can look Aramis straight in the eye. Aramis is trying to figure out how to make his thoughts sound less ridiculous when Porthos sucks in his own lower lip and starts to worry at one side of it with his teeth. Aramis’ mouth goes dry, and he forgets that he was even trying to hold this in.

“I wish you could feel what it’s like to be kissed by you,” he finally says.

Porthos stares at him, his mouth unmoving and his eyes wide.

“You make me feel…” his first instinct is to stop, but Porthos is still staring at him like he can’t breathe so Aramis takes Porthos’ face in his hands and finishes his thought. “Like treasure."

The words are so inadequate. Porthos’ mouth crashes into his again, and Aramis knows that there will never be a turn of phrase for the breathtaking adoration Porthos puts into a kiss.

There are more kisses, shorter now, and harder. In between each one, clothes fall to the floor. Porthos braces one arm against the doorframe and noses under Aramis’ jaw. “Shower. For the plans I’ve got, you need a shower.”

“Are you coming?"

“You’ll be faster if I don’t.” Something sparkles in Porthos’ eyes and Aramis knows he’s right. He knows what’s coming, he _wants_ it, he’s not going to drag out the preliminaries.

 

By the time Aramis comes back into the room, dripping and clutching his towel around his waist, the overhead lights are off, only the dimmer bedside light is on, and Porthos is waiting for him.

“The longer you stand there staring, the longer you have to wait."

It’s terribly domestic, a world away from the kind of frantic sex of their youths. They’re in bed with the lights dimmed, trading heartfelt kisses and feeling familiar skin under each other’s hands. Porthos is braced on one arm, moving over Aramis. Maybe when he was nineteen he’d have scorned ‘missionary-position married people sex’ but fuck, it’s perfect.

Eager, Aramis arches up into him, begging without words.

Porthos’ chuckle is deep and full of promise. Aramis can feel it against his skin. He kneels up between Aramis’ legs, pushing them apart and dragging his fingers over Aramis’ hole. They’re neither of them fully hard yet, and that intimate touch almost feels like too much. Aramis’ jaw clenches.

“Nothing to say?” Porthos asks. “I know you, though. You always get mouthy after you get more into it. Twenty minutes from now I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise."

“My clever plan to make you shut me up with your cock."

Porthos shakes his head. “Maybe later. When you’re begging for it.”

The first swipe of Porthos’ tongue against him sends Aramis arching off the bed. His shoulders are touching, and his ass is still cupped in Porthos’ palms, but the rest goes taut and then collapses down again, squirming to get more. Porthos bites at his ass, the meat of one cheek between his teeth and Aramis moans at the pinch.

He can feel Porthos’ thumbs spreading him, exposing him to Porthos’ tongue. It’s not aggressive, just one hot, wet pass after another, over and over. Unending. When Aramis has relaxed into it, Porthos dips in with the tip and Aramis clenches around his tongue. It’s so good, but every new touch takes a second to get used to.

Back to the licking now, slow and even, as if Porthos is content to do this until morning. Aramis wants more, he wants the sucking kisses Porthos knows he loves or the nearly-overwhelming drag of Porthos’ teeth against him. He wants, craves really, the feeling of Porthos’ tongue fucking him or licking around two fingers as they spread Aramis open.

“Are you going to keep doing that forever? Did you want me to have your mail forwarded?"

Porthos laughs again, and Aramis can feel the puff of air against his skin. “I might.” It’s the pause as Porthos speaks that makes Aramis realize what he’s doing. In the brief break between passes of Porthos’ tongue, Aramis can feel his skin, hot and sensitized in the cool air of the room.

No single swipe of Porthos’ tongue has been too much, if anything they’ve barely been enough, but all together, for long enough, they’re going to leave him puffy and begging. Like a river over rock, Porthos is steady, even, relentless. The river always wins.

Here, now, are the kisses he’s wanted, the suck of Porthos’ mouth against his hole and the feeling of Porthos’ lips brushing over the furl of muscle and skin. The teeth too, just a little scrape and drag, enough to make Aramis whimper and beg as best he can with only the twist of his hips. He knows he’s gone too far when Porthos stops and waits until Aramis is still again.

He’s dipping back in again, the tip of his tongue slipping into Aramis’ ass so shallow it’s barely there at all. Aramis is clawing at the sheets in a futile effort to get more. Again. Again. Again. Maybe a little deeper the third time. Aramis is hard now, weeping against his own belly, and he wants to take himself in hand almost as much as he doesn’t. The aching throb of his cock as Porthos fucks into him is perfect.

More, finally. Porthos slides deeper in, licking up and dragging his tongue back out. Aramis fists his hands in the sheets again and tries to curl up into the touch. He can feel every place where Porthos’ mouth is touching him, can feel the brush of Porthos’ beard and knows that before long it’s going to be a drag and then a grind. It’s going to be so good if Aramis can just be patient.

When Porthos has fucked Aramis open enough to slide a finger in next to his tongue he comes back up, pressing a kiss to Aramis’ belly. Aramis’ skin tingles where Porthos’ beard touched him, and he can feel the thump of his pulse in the tender skin around his hole.

“Too much?” Porthos asks, but he’s smirking. Aramis shakes his head. Porthos’ finger in him is so good, but it’s not enough. “It will be."

Aramis doesn’t doubt him. Not for a second.

Porthos fucks just that one finger into Aramis over and over until Aramis is twisting against the bed trying to screw himself down on it. When Porthos stills, Aramis keeps trying for a second and then stops. When he’s still again, Porthos slides another finger in, a reward for Aramis behaving.

Reaching up with his other arm, Porthos snags the lube from the bedside table and dribbles a little over his fingers. There’s enough wetness leftover from Porthos’ mouth, but it won’t last long. Certainly not as long as Porthos wants to keep doing this. It’s cold, but it feels incredible against his heated skin.

Slick now, sliding in so easily, Porthos spreads his fingers on the way out then pushes back in.

“You’ve got it now, don’t you?” Porthos asks. “I don’t have to fuck you hard. I can fuck you just like this for as long as I want and it’ll wreck you just as much.”

Aramis nods and he can feel his hair moving against his skin, sticking to his forehead. “I know. Please. Please more.”

“Nah. Not yet,” Porthos says, and those same two fingers fuck into Aramis again and again until he’s ready to grab Porthos by the wrist and fuck himself on Porthos’ hand. As if he knows, and the desperation in Aramis’ whines is probably enough of a sign, Porthos slips a third finger in. It’s enough. Just for a second, it’s enough, then Aramis feels himself opening and he wants more again.

“You used to get your hair stuck to your face like this when we were at practice. I’d see you sweating and just want to lick it. I wanted everything of you.”

Aramis wants to beg again, but before he can, Porthos twists his wrist. Arching off the bed again, Aramis feels the muscles of his legs bunching as his heels dig into the mattress. He’s clenching and releasing around Porthos’ fingers, gripping and loosening again and again as Porthos twists and twists. When he can feel the sheet under his back again, Aramis splays his legs wide and begs with the curl of his hips up into Porthos’ twisting thrusts.

“Please,” he says. “Please please."

“What are you asking for, Aramis?”

Aramis would answer, but he has no idea what he’s asking for other than _more_. “ _Please_.”

“Yeah, alright.” Porthos curls his fingers then and brushes against that spot inside Aramis that always makes him see stars.

All the air leaves Aramis’ lungs in a stunned barking grunt, and he can feel his feet flex, his toes curling. “Again?” He looks up at Porthos and sees those beautiful eyes sweeping over the length of his body. Porthos is taking in the way Aramis’ chest is flushed even in the dim light, and his cock is pulsing. The slide of Porthos’ fingers back out is smooth, almost easy, but the push back in strokes over his prostate again, feather soft but Aramis knows that soon he’ll be crying for it.

He’s given up trying to move into it, isn’t even trying to fuck back down on Porthos’ fingers. There’s a sweetness to the way Aramis surrenders to the slide and tug of Porthos’ hand. When Porthos slips out with his fingers curled like that, he pulls Aramis into him.

Aramis can feel his body rock with the movement of Porthos’ forearm, pulling him close and then pushing up and in. “Love when you give up and let it feel good,” Porthos says. He takes Aramis chin in his free hand. “Hey.” Aramis looks up at him and takes half a second to focus his eyes. “I love you.” Aramis tries to say the words back but just then Porthos curls his fingers in again and all Aramis can do is keen.

Porthos kisses him, and there’s a little taste of soap, a leftover from Aramis’ shower. “I’m sorry about the soap,” he says, and it’s ridiculous that those are the words he can say clearly.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Porthos says and his mouth curls in a smile that’s oddly tender given that Aramis can feel his hole throbbing around the better half of Porthos’ fist.

Porthos squeezes more lube out, letting it run over his palm and pool between his fingers where they’re pressed together and fucking in, in, into Aramis. There’s a pull in Aramis’ groin, nothing sharp, just the dull coiling heat of an orgasm as it begins to build.

It’s a rhythm now, the slide of Porthos’ fingers in, the slap of pleasure as they drag over his prostate, then the twist as Porthos draws his fingers back out. Aramis can feel his heartbeat in his cock, can see it jumping against his belly. It’s dripping, pooling in his navel and, grinning, Porthos dips his head and licks it out.

Aramis cries out at the touch and feels his balls begin to draw up. Seeing it, Porthos pushes in again and then just rocks his wrist, brushing over and over and over against that spot until Aramis can feel tears at the corners of his eyes. His face is screwed into a grimace. “Porthos. So good! Please, I need it. Fuck, Porthos I’m about to come."

Porthos wraps his fingers around the base of Aramis’s cock and squeezes tight, holding his other hand still. “No. You’re not."

It seems to take forever for Aramis to relax enough to open his eyes. Porthos is perfectly still, content to wait as long as it takes for Aramis to come back from the edge. He looks infinitely patient, but Aramis can see his cock, heavy and leaking against his thigh.

“Good?”

Aramis nods.

Porthos lets go of his cock and switches which hand he’s using to fuck Aramis. Just one finger on his left hand slides in, and Aramis almost hisses at it. It’s worse because he knows. He knows that if Porthos isn’t letting him come now, it’s because there’s more to come. Porthos is going to fuck him. That broad, blunt head and thick shaft are going to push into his over-sensitized hole, and Porthos isn’t going to stop until he’s good and ready. It’s almost enough to bring the push of orgasm back to Aramis’ gut.

The friction as that one finger fucks him, pushes and pulls at his hole, is so good, and Aramis just wants to ride it until he cries. Hearing the click of the lid on the lube, Aramis opens his eyes and sees Porthos slicking up his cock. He drops his head back to the bed, groaning.

“You started it,” Porthos says and slides his finger out.

He pushes Aramis’ thighs wide and back, opening Aramis wide for him. With one hand he tugs at the rim of Aramis’ hole, and Aramis is almost embarrassed at how wide he stretches. He can feel that thump thump thump of his pulse in the tender area around his hole and clenches just thinking about Porthos’ cock.

“Hey now,” Porthos says, hooking a thumb in and stretching Aramis again. With his other hand, Porthos lifts his cock and settles the head against Aramis’ hole. He pushes his hips forward just enough to seat it there, to keep it snug against Aramis while he relaxes again, flexing open enough to feel Porthos slip in just a little.

Aramis is expecting one long, endless slide until Porthos is fully buried in him, but that’s not what he gets. Like everything he’s done tonight, Porthos starts with not nearly enough. He lets his cock just kiss Aramis’ hole over and over, sliding in just a fraction and then pulling out. Even with all the lubrication, the friction against his poor hole is making Aramis groan over and over. It’s too much and not enough and perfect.

“So big,” Aramis says. “You’re always big, but,” he hisses, “tonight you’re huge. I want all of it, want to ache for you and spend all day tomorrow feeling how well you fucked me. Please don’t stop, please let me have more. Please!”

More lube, Aramis can feel it rapidly warming against his heated skin, and now every push of Porthos against him sends him deeper and deeper. He tries to hold still, he does, but unbidden his hips are rising to meet Porthos, to pull him in further.

“Needy. Little. Hole.” Porthos says, fucking into him between words. Every thrust is bringing him at least halfway in now and Aramis is starting to writhe against the drag of Porthos’ cock. It’s such a glorious, delicious, pull in and out that Aramis barely notices it getting longer and longer. It’s a surprise when Porthos stops, his hips snug against Aramis’ ass and the hair on his balls rubbing against Aramis’ tender skin.

Porthos clenches his jaw, rolling his head on his neck. It’s nice to see that he’s not unaffected by this, that there’s an ache with his pleasure just as there is for Aramis. When he moves again, it’s easy, almost gentle, just an ordinary stroke in and out, but by now Aramis feels every tiny movement like it’s taking him over. It’s starting to hurt, but he never wants it to stop.

He reaches for Porthos’, wrapping his fingers around Porthos’ forearms where they’re braced on either side of Aramis’ chest. Clinging to him, Aramis sinks into the sensation and lets himself be taken over by the endless fuck of Porthos’ cock in and out of him. It’s enough. Finally, it’s enough, even as it’s way too much.

“Want me to stop?” Porthos asks, halting mid-thrust, and Aramis realizes he’s been shaking his head back and forth, and Porthos has taken it as ‘no.'

Aramis can feel the lube, it’s still there, so much that it’s running down his ass, but it feels like there’s nothing to temper the burn of Porthos’ thick shaft pushing in. “Please don’t stop. Please fuck me,” he says even as he knows it’s going to be more than he can take. “Let me have all of it. I need your cock in me, need you riding me and stretching me so wide. You’re so good to me, so good. Make me feel so good. Fuck, please don’t stop, Porthos."

Porthos starts up again, and Aramis cries out, digging his fingernails into Porthos’ arms and clenching his teeth. He can feel his ass try to tighten down around Porthos’ cock, and that makes it better and worse at the same time. Aramis’ cock is starting to ache with the desperate need to spill, and he wonders if he can keep from touching himself. It wouldn’t take much, one good pull and he could be spattering both of them. He’s trying so hard to be good.

All the fancy technique of insecure lovers is absent here, Porthos fucking him is free from artifice. Every pump of his hips into Aramis is simple and flawless. Sweat is rolling from Aramis’ forehead, he can feel cool streaks as it dries and he knows tears aren’t far behind. His balls are starting to draw up again and Aramis wonders if even Porthos can hold this at bay.

“Do I have to fuck you hard?” Porthos asks and Aramis shakes his head again. “Want me to anyway?” Aramis’ nod is frantic. Porthos grins, both dimples flashing. “Love you,” he says and takes one of Aramis’ knees in each hand, pushing them toward Aramis’ chest and tilting his hips up, changing the angle just a little.

He’s babbling now, speaking filth and praise and fantasies into the space between them, and Porthos’ smile back at him makes it clear how much he loves watching Aramis come undone.

Aramis cries out, grabbing for Porthos’ arms again the first time Porthos’ skin slaps against his own. Porthos is curling into each thrust and snapping his hips as he buries himself to the hilt. It takes five or six strokes for Porthos to find Aramis’ prostate with his cock, and when he does, Aramis screams. Porthos grins again. He doesn’t hit it with every stroke, there’s no pattern to it, so each time it’s a shock. Aramis whines, twisting his body to get more.

“Want to come for me?”

Reaching up to grab at the pillow, to twist it in his hands, Aramis says, “Yes. Yes, please Porthos. Please make me come.”

“You’re going to come before I do, but I’m not going to quit fucking you until I’m done. So there won’t be anything to distract you. Sure you want to come?"

Aramis’ mind goes white. When he blinks, it clears away, and Porthos is still looking at him. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I’m sure.” What he doesn’t have words for now is how close he is to coming just from the idea of lying here as Porthos rides out his pleasure on Aramis’ sated, sore body.

Porthos’ grip feels like glorious fire on Aramis’ aching cock. He lasts longer than he thought he would. Even still, it’s less than a minute before Aramis’ mouth drops open in a silent scream and his balls, tight against the base of his cock, pulse as his cock empties onto his own skin and Porthos’ hand. He can’t remember the last time he came so hard it hit his chest. Porthos keeps his grip, keeps fucking Aramis through the last of it and squeezes, milking the last twitches from Aramis’ cock.

When Aramis is finished, Porthos drags his left hand up the length of Aramis’ cock, cupping his balls at the base and then just petting him. Aramis is rolling up into the touch as he watches Porthos smile, wicked, and lick his right hand clean.

He’s thrusting all the while, little pulses in and out, not letting Aramis’ hole rest. Aramis is panting, his breath coming shallow and fast as he watches Porthos. The last traces of Aramis’ come gone, Porthos cups Aramis’ knees with his hands again and starts fucking him in earnest. There’s the slap of his hips again, the snap of each thrust into him and Aramis can feel every place he’s going to ache tomorrow. He dreams about feeling it as he stands at the sink filling the coffee pot or the water running over him in the shower.

Porthos is staring down at the place where their bodies meet, watching himself slide in over and over again. He reaches one hand down and traces his thumb over Aramis’ rim, and Aramis knows he can feel the slide of his cock going in.

“I never imagined seeing your hole puffy and red like this could be this good. Makes me want to never stop.”

Aramis whines and Porthos laughs. He meets Aramis’ eyes and smiles as he tucks his thumb against his cock and pushes them both in together.

There are the tears.

Just that little extra stretch has Aramis crying out, blinking away the wetness until they run down his temples. It takes a second for him to place the sound he hears; it's his own voice saying ‘please’ again and again.

“Yeah,” Porthos says. “Fuck yeah.” His head rolls on his neck again and then something snaps. He’s fucking to come now, growing a little thicker and making Aramis cry out. That thumb is still there, tucked into Aramis’ hole as Porthos fucks him, relentless.

The way Porthos is fucking him, Aramis expects a roar when he comes, a great, loud bellow as he spills into Aramis. Instead, Porthos goes still all over, silent as his eyes clench shut and his neck twists. He’s shaking, and Aramis almost pets him. Porthos hisses, pumping his hips in once, twice, three more times and Aramis knows he can’t really feel the heat of Porthos coming in him, but it doesn’t stop him from dreaming it.

Porthos holds himself there, still buried, still pulsing, until he can open his eyes and look down at Aramis, meeting his eyes as he pulls his thumb out. Aramis almost sobs at the drag of it against his hole. The slide of Porthos’ cock back out of him seems to take forever, and Aramis thinks this might finally be more than he can handle without saying no, but Porthos is as gentle as he can be.

“I’m going to get something to clean us up before you come down anymore.”

Aramis knows he’s right, he might be deliciously sore right now, but there’s going to be swelling soon, and he’s not going to want a cloth rubbing him, no matter how soft it is.

Porthos comes back from the bathroom with two cloths. One he’s run under warm water and uses to clean Aramis’ chest and belly and cock, wiping away any last traces of Aramis’ come. The other is cool and feels incredible against his heated, tender skin. Porthos pushes Aramis’ knee back and then stares down at him. “You’re still a little open."

There’s a look of wonder on Porthos' face as he uses two fingers to swipe up a bit of come that’s run out of Aramis and push it back in, where it belongs. Aramis can feel it, but he’s still riding his endorphins and can only smile at the idea of Porthos wanting to make sure he stays marked and full.

The rest of the semen, Porthos wipes away and then presses the cool cloth against Aramis’ hole, leaving it there for a minute as Aramis groans in pleasure. “That’s perfect. You do love me.”

Porthos takes the washcloth and tosses it, along with the warm one, through the bathroom door. Aramis can hear the slap as they land in the sink.

“We’ll see if you still think that tomorrow,” Porthos says, grinning. He switches off the light and pushes Aramis over onto his side before curling up behind him, hooking one leg over Aramis’. Between them, they get the covers where they want them, and Porthos slides his arm around Aramis waist. His nose is buried in the curls behind Aramis ear, and Aramis can feel a series of tiny kisses pressed there.

He wants to say how perfect his life is now, wants to spin poetry about it. Instead, he turns his head until Porthos can reach Aramis’ mouth with his own and kisses him. He wants to say that everything of him was Porthos’ from the second they kissed. He wants to tell Porthos that every day with him is better than any dream Aramis ever had, but like describing Porthos’ kisses, there will never be the right words. In the end, he tries to say it all as simply as he can.

“I love you.” He whispers into the dark room.

“I love you, too” Porthos murmurs into Aramis’ neck, and Aramis knows they can both hear everything that’s left unsaid.

 

He’d forgotten to turn off his alarm, so Aramis is awake, reaching for his phone at seven the next morning. There’s the frantic pushing of buttons and sliding of screens to get it off before it wakes Porthos, but he succeeds, tucking himself back into Porthos’ arms a few seconds later.

Before he can drift back off, Porthos phone start's chiming as well. “Oh come on,” Porthos says. “What the fuck?” He grabs his phone and squints at the screen. A smile breaks over his face like the sun coming out. He puts his phone back on the nightstand and settles back down, one arm tucked behind his head.

“What is it?"

“Group texts. Constance is in labor. More news later.” Aramis says a quick prayer for all of them.  “Was that your alarm?” Porthos asks. Aramis tucks his head into the hollow of Porthos’ shoulder and nods. “You could still get up and go,” Porthos says.

Aramis rears back, making sure Porthos catches the full force of his glare. Porthos is still laughing as he gathers Aramis back into his chest and trails his fingers up Aramis’ back, stroking him until Aramis drifts off again.


End file.
